


always knew the melody (but never heard it rhyme)

by UnAmusings



Series: Heaven Blessed [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Ghost (ASoIAF) is a Good Boy, Hurt/Comfort, Jon Snow is a Mess, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Mpreg, Nesting Instinct, Post Mpreg, Tormund is a Softie, but it's justified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 01:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnAmusings/pseuds/UnAmusings
Summary: His heart feels fit to burst, and tears threaten to spill. Something so small shouldn't exist in this too big world full of dangers. If Jon had the strength, didn't feel any pain, he'd bar all the doors and seal every window to keep any wandering eyes out.





	always knew the melody (but never heard it rhyme)

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend reading the previous part, simply because it's fluffy. 
> 
> Title from, " _The Mother_ ," by Brandi Carlile. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Enjoy!

Jon can feel the sweat bunch at the crown of his hairline, and he still can't seem to catch his breath. His body burns, exhausted like he's never known. Every thump of his heart brings a pulsing ache in his head and everywhere else. But, the glossiness in his eyes isn't because of that incessant pain, but the pink face he can't tear his eyes from.

The babe is so small. He felt so big in Jon's belly, but swaddled as he is, he's barely the size of a forearm. Fine dark hairs are plastered to the baby's forehead, framing closed eyes and pudgy cheeks, and Jon feels something flame wildly in his chest. 

Midwives are bustling about, gathering bloody cloths, and leaving medicines by his bedside, then exiting one by one. Jon doesn't hear them, transfixed by his son's itty mouth that opens and closes with each fuss and squirm. Bright lips that are a perfect blend of his own and Tormund's. He travels the outline of them with his thumb. 

It isn't until he feels a midwife wipe where he aches most, that he notices he was being cleaned at all. He hisses, pulling away slightly from the fire residing deep in his muscles, but not getting far. The midwife hums, rubbing at his ankle, and she continues with soft and gentle brushes of the rag. 

With that final towel that joins the rest of its red brethren, she pulls a fur over his body, and gathers the last of her things. She leans over them to wipe away the stray curls falling into his face, and kisses Jon on the forehead. 

"You did well, love."

His voice doesn't feel strong enough to say _thank you_ , but he does his best anyway. The look of understanding blends with her smile, as she gives his shoulder a squeeze, then leaves. 

He looks down to the swaddle in his arms. It's been so long since he's held a baby, Jon can't tell if he's holding him right. His heart feels fit to burst, and tears threaten to spill. Something so small shouldn't exist in this too big world full of dangers. If Jon had the strength, didn't feel any pain, he'd bar all the doors and seal every window to keep any wandering eyes out. 

As gently as possible, Jon lays the boy down at his side. Jon's legs feel like lead, and every breath set his nerves ablaze, but he's determined. Despite every sting that makes him want to scream, he curls around his son, nuzzling at silky black hair and inhaling that new babe smell. The bundle fits perfectly into the cave created by his chest, but Jon's eyes stay locked on the door, vigilant of every movement. He can hear the murmur of voices just outside the door, feel the spring breeze at his back. 

The door creaks open, and Jon's pulse pounds in his ears as he curls tighter around his son. Muscles through his body relax when he sees the bright red hair of his husband peek past. Followed by Ghost's massive white snout that pushes after Tormund to settle at the foot of the bed. For the first time, the chieftain looks small, his bright eyes wide as they flicker between Jon and the puddle of furs. 

Jon reaches out, his fingers stretching towards his husband. Tormund stalks forward, falling to his knees the moment they clasp hands. Flickering candlelight is the only way Jon can see Tormund's face, so open with the glow of pride and love.

The baby fusses, making a muck of his swaddle, pushing tiny hands free. Jon counts ten perfect fingers that wave in search for something to grab onto. Tormund's laugh is high and giddy, slightly manic after the past two days of restless waiting. Jon squeezes their joined fingers. His husband uses his free hand to offer his pinky, and the little one grasps it like a lifeline. 

"Your hair, but my strong grip," Tormund rumbles. The baby reacts immediately to his father's low timbre, opening eyelids to reveal icy blue that reflect Tormund's eyes. 

Jon hiccups, the last of his resolve crumbling away. A little boy so perfectly both of them, here in their arms. The tears work their way down, climbing over the bridge of his nose, and falling onto the sweat soaked sheets. His husband makes a soft shushing noise as he begins to climb into the bed, careful not to jostle Jon's frame. 

Now he can melt, with Tormund spooning his back, their clasped hands resting over their son's tummy. No words can describe the pain, the way his body fell into instinct with each push. All encompassing fear, not for himself, but the baby he had yet to meet. Two nights of imagining what their child would look like, with every combination of features he could think of, just so he could get through the agony. The midwives had told him to scream, that he would feel better, but the pain had stolen his voice. Every thought was of his loneliness, of wanting his love by his side, holding his hand through every minute.

Tormund whispers, "So strong, my pretty crow," as he weaves an arm under Jon's head. 

Tears wet the soft cotton of the sleeve, but Tormund does nothing, simply moves closer to wrap around Jon more completely. 

"He definitely got your pretty. The whole village won'be able to say no to him."

"The most loved babe in all the North." Jon says, his voice thick and raspy from disuse. His eyes still weep, but they seem to fall of their own volition. "He needs a name."

Tormund kisses his neck in the way he knows Jon loves best. Starting at the nape of his skull to the underside of his jaw, gentle kisses that warm the ice in Jon's veins, and quells the mayhem in Jon's head. Every invasive thought dulls down, and Jon is sure of one thing: all the pain in the world is worth the little boy in their arms.

It seems impossible, but Jon tears his gaze away from their son to stare back at his husband. Tormund's eyes are alight with a softness that is only reserved for the people in this room. Earnest in the best way possible, because he looks at Jon like he has been given the world. 

"Edur," Tormund declares, his voice rapt with a jilted hum. 

Jon kisses him. Simply, because he can, and mostly, because he wants it. He wants forever in this one kiss, to make this perfect little moment last. But, their son is wiggling, releasing small noises and grabbing their attention. 

"Litte Edur." Jon loves the way the name rolls of his tongue. 

Sunlight peaks over the mountains in the east, lighting the room in an orangey cast. Soon, the people will wake, and start ploughing the fields. Then, they will be hearing the news of their son. This perfect little moment will fade away to memory, giving way to the wants of the world.

It's too fleeting, and Jon can feel it slip through his fingers. Sleep pulls him under, even though he wants to savor every moment, and remember every second. Tormund squeezes the hand resting atop their son's belly, as if feeling the same panic. He breathes deeply, burrowing further into his husband's warm arms, and pulling their son closer into their embrace. 

As far as Jon is concerned, with Ghost sitting guard at the foot of their bed, _the world_ can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Jon needs a good cry from time to time, too. 
> 
> Also, I chose the name Edur because: one, it means snow, and two, it's a slight homage to Ned. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
